The shrill beep of my tablet drags me fully awake. The cramped quarters of Block D feel even smaller in the harsh lighting of the facility's morning cycle. I check the notification, CDC-4 for nutrition from 0600-0700, then Facility 9 for training from 0800-0900.

  My body feels surprisingly good despite the shitty mattress. The meditation during sleep did more than just rest my mind, my muscles feel responsive, energy flowing freely through the enhanced pathways created by the aliens' procedures.

  I splash water on my face in the tiny sanitation unit and head out into the corridor. Other independents move with purpose toward the Communal Distribution Center, most wearing the same bland facility-issue clothing. There's none of the customization you'd see among sponsored assets, no one here has resources to waste on appearances.

  CDC-4 turns out to be a large utilitarian space with dispensing stations along one wall and basic tables scattered throughout. The line moves efficiently as independents receive their allocated nutrition. When I reach the front, a bored-looking human staff member scans my palm.

  "Independent Asset 7249," the system announces. "Standard allocation, minus 22% sponsor enhancement factor."

  A small container slides out from the dispenser, a gray paste with the consistency of thick oatmeal. Next to it, a supplement capsule and water container.

  The paste tastes exactly as appealing as it looks, bland with a faint metallic aftertaste. Designed for function, not enjoyment. I notice many independents eating quickly, some adding what look like personally acquired seasonings or supplements to their allocations.

  Iris from yesterday slides into the seat across from me, her iridescent scales catching the harsh overhead lighting. "First morning paste," she says with a slight grimace. "You'll get used to it. Or at least stop noticing how fucking awful it is."

  "Nutritionally complete?" I ask between bites.

  "Barely," she replies. "Enough to keep you functional but not thriving. Another way they remind us of our status." She discreetly slides what looks like a small herb packet across the table. "Mix this in. Helps with the taste and adds some nutrients they 'forget' to include."

  I thank her and follow her advice. The addition doesn't make the paste delicious, but it becomes marginally more tolerable.

  "Facility 9 next?" she asks.

  I nod, swallowing the last of the gray sludge.

  "Good session to establish your routine," she says. "Most sponsored assets never visit lower facilities, so security monitoring is less intense. Don't hold back too much, just avoid the really unusual shit."

  After finishing the meager breakfast, I make my way through the facility's utilitarian corridors toward Training Facility 9. Unlike yesterday's confusion, I now know exactly where I'm going.

  Facility 9 is indeed as basic as people described, a converted storage area rather than a purpose-built training space. About a dozen other independents are already using the limited equipment when I arrive. I spot Vex working with spatial distortions in one corner, his geometric scars faintly glowing with each manipulation.

  The telekinetic section consists of objects of varying densities arranged on a simple platform. Metal spheres, synthetic cubes, and what appear to be specially weighted compounds provide basic training opportunities. Nothing like the advanced systems available to sponsored assets, but enough to maintain and develop fundamental skills.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I begin with standard exercises, lifting multiple objects simultaneously, controlling their movements with increasing precision, manipulating their relative positions in complex patterns. Nothing flashy, but enough to keep my abilities sharp and ready.

  Midway through my session, I notice someone watching me from the facility entrance, Marcus, his electrical signature unmistakable even at a distance. He observes for several minutes before approaching.

  "Good form," he says simply. "Labor assignment coming after this?"

  "According to my schedule," I confirm.

  He nods. "First day's always shit work, waste processing or infrastructure maintenance usually. They want to see if you'll break and reconsider sponsorship." A small electrical current dances between his fingers. "Show competence but not enthusiasm. Complete the tasks efficiently but don't volunteer for extra."

  After offering this advice, he moves to his own training area, leaving me to complete my session. The remaining time passes quickly as I focus on fundamental control exercises, deliberately avoiding anything that might reveal the full extent of my developing abilities.

  As I finish my training session in Facility 9, I approach Marcus before he leaves. The question has been nagging at me since I saw him move so freely between areas that should be restricted for independents.

  "How are you able to access the higher-level areas so easily?" I ask quietly, keeping my voice low enough that nearby monitoring devices won't pick it up. "And if you're Unbound like you implied, how are you still participating in combat trials?"

  Marcus glances around, then gestures for me to follow him to a maintenance alcove where the surveillance coverage has a small blind spot. The electrical energy dancing across his skin seems to intensify briefly, perhaps disrupting nearby monitoring.

  "Perceptive question," he says with a hint of approval. "I maintain a dual status. Officially, I'm an independent asset with an unusual arrangement, I handle specific maintenance tasks that require electrical manipulation in sensitive areas. Gives me access passes most independents don't have."

  He rolls up his sleeve, revealing what looks like a facility access band, more advanced than anything I've seen other independents wearing.

  "As for combat trials, I participate selectively. The system needs examples of successful independents to maintain the illusion of choice. I'm their poster boy for 'independence with cooperation.'" His expression hardens. "The reality is more complicated."

  He leans closer, electrical energy crackling between us. "I'm what you might call half-unbound. My tracking implant has been modified, not removed. It still registers my location but with specific blind spots and altered power readings. As far as the system knows, I'm just an unusually successful independent with valuable electrical abilities."

  "That sounds like a dangerous game," I observe.

  Marcus nods, a grim smile crossing his scarred face. "Fucking razor's edge every day. But it gives me access to information and areas that help the truly unbound operate. I'm the bridge between worlds."

  “And the persona you put on when I first met?” I ask. It’s clear to me now that this is the real Marcus.

  “That’s just how I greet newbies,” Marcus chuckles. “Would you have felt comfortable talking to me if you knew my full identity when I first met?”

  I suppose not.

  He checks the time on a facility display visible through the alcove entrance. "Your labor assignment starts soon. Remember what I told you and you’ll do fine."

  Before he can say more, a facility announcement echoes through the corridor: "Independent assets report to Labor Assignment Station 2 for daily tasking."

  "We'll talk more later," Marcus says. "Don’t worry about all this unnecessary stuff, the first week is all about assessment."

  As I walk toward the assignment station, I consider Marcus's unusual position. Not fully independent, not unbound, not sponsored, existing in the gaps between classifications. I’d go crazy from the stress if I had to manage all that.

  The labor assignment station comes into view, a utilitarian desk staffed by a human handler who looks as enthusiastic about being there as the independents lining up for their day's work. Each person ahead of me receives their assignment with resigned acceptance, then moves off toward their designated area.

  When I reach the front of the line, the handler scans my palm without looking up. "Independent Asset 7249. First assignment cycle. Waste Processing Sublevel 3, Reclamation Unit 7. Report to Sector Supervisor Dorn."

  My tablet updates with directions to the assignment, deep in the facility's lower levels, far from the privileged sectors where sponsored assets train and live. Exactly as Marcus predicted.

  Waste processing awaits, my first true test as an independent asset.